Past and present merge Part 2
by LaraCarter
Summary: The continuation of the story from Past and present merge.


(Y/n) was grateful that Moriarty didn't pick a very secluded factory for his game, after fifteen minutes of running she found an open pub, it looked like a dump, but she didn't care. She wasn't there to have a great time with friends she just wanted to drink her mind away.

Meanwhile Sherlock was giving explanations to Lestrade, talking as fast as he was able to, eager to finish and go in the search for (Y/n).

He ended his monologue and he was getting ready to leave, but Lestrade wasn't having any of it. He was in a very sour mood and he was refusing to continue the leniency with which he always treated Sherlock up until that moment.

"You're not going anywhere Sherlock. This time you'll stay and give me all the information. There are three dead men in there, for God's sake!" Lestrade raised his voice, looking peeved.

"I just did. Do try to keep up, Detective Inspector, it really isn't that complicated. Moriarty kidnapped me, (Y/n) and her father, brought us here, had two snipers aiming at me and at (Y/n)'s father, made her chose who to shoot from the two of us, she shot the snipers instead, not fast enough to stop one of them from shooting her father. What's so hard to comprehend?" Sherlock repeated his explanation, his voice sounding bored and annoyed.

"Why would Moriarty do this? Why did he chose (Y/n)'s father? And more importantly, where is she?" Lestrade fired his questions, afraid maybe that he would forget them or that Sherlock might just vanish in thin air before he would be able to get some answers.

"I would know if you would stop being such an idiot and you would let me go and find her. You'll get the details tomorrow morning. Scouts honour." Sherlock gave him a false smile while giving the scout boys salute.

Sherlock didn't wait for Lestrade's confirmation, he swished passed him, his coat floating behind him like the cape of a superhero. He got his phone out from his pocket typing franticly, he was looking for the closest pubs that he could find, knowing that (Y/n) would chose the first one she would find. The only problem was that he didn't know which way she went. He stopped his fast paced walk and turned on the spot, looking for a clue, but there was nothing. No shoe marks, there was no rain in the last days so there was no mud, no car tracks which didn't matter because she was on foot and he was certain that she literally ran. The state she was in would make her take rash decisions she wouldn't have called a cab. Also if she would have, he would have got to her before she would have left. 'John chose the worst time to visit his sister.' Sherlock thought. He would have to go in every pub that was close to the factory, so he decided to go in a clock wise order.

(Y/n) was already at her fourth shot of tequila after having drank two shots of vodka. She knew that was going to get her drunk fast, in the past she did that by mistake, big mistake considering that she woke up in the bed of a complete stranger. This time she didn't care where she would wake up or even if she would wake up all together. She was broken, she felt pain in her chest, like there was a claw that was squeezing the air from her lungs, her stomach hurt and so did her head. She wasn't even sure how was she able to hold back her tears, because she wasn't crying, she even checked by patting her cheeks to see if they were wet.

(Y/n) ordered another shot of tequila when a man sat next to her at the counter.

"Hey! I saw you from across the room. Would it be ok if I join you?" the man asked, smiling at her charmingly.

"Sure if you don't mind having a drink with a fucked up individual, why not!" (Y/n) answered him and took another taste of the fiery liquid.

"We're all fucked up one way or another, aren't we?!" The man responded with a light chuckle.

"Believe me when I tell you, you never met someone as fucked up as me. But hey, it's all fine since the only reason you're here talking to me is that you want to shag me. You don't give a shit about my mental state, that has no importance to your final goal. There have been studies that showed that men would put up with a crazy woman as long she is hot. I think they used more words to describe that study, but my lexicon is reduced by the amount of tequila I ingested."

"I don't want to sound like a total dick, but yes, you're right, I did come here because I find you attractive." Another sly smile thrown her way accompanied this time by a very suggestive wink.

"I know. You think I'm a ten, considering that you're still here after all that I've told you. Well, you're in luck, I'm in such a horrible moment in my life and in such a state of ebriety that I'll probably shag you even though I don't find you attractive or interesting in any way. But you don't care about that do you?" she replied finishing her drink.

The man laughed and drained his glass, before answering "No, I really don't. Should we go then?"

(Y/n) got up from the chair losing her balance for a moment, but the man that was chatting her up, slithered his hand around her waist, using her weakness in his advantage and steering her towards the exit. But their short travel to the door was blocked by a tall man that was glaring at them. Sherlock looked menacing and he seemed even taller than usual, at least that's how (Y/n) saw him.

"Thanks for your help, I take it from here", he said reaching for (Y/n)'s arm, fishing her out from the hands of this bloke.

"Hey, get your own! She's with me!" the man answered plunging after (Y/n), but she was getting sick, she knew that she'll puke soon and didn't feel like hooking up anymore, so she made a step back closer to Sherlock and shaking her head she said "Sorry, I don't feel like it anymore. But that is luck for you, now you have it, the next second it's gone. If you excuse me I'm going to throw up in that bin over there!" she finished pointing outside to a bin.

She didn't wait for any of them to respond, she turned on her heels and darted outside, pushing people aside, feeling her mouth getting full of saliva and her stomach making upwards movements. She barely made it to the bin when all the contents of her stomach overflowed from her mouth, leaving a horrible after taste.

When she straitened herself up, a hand offered her a bottle of water, that she took. She drank and washed her face, lifting her eyes and meeting Sherlock's blue, cold gaze. She tried to give him a thankful smile, but she felt like she couldn't actually coordinate her face muscles correctly and she doubted that he could actually see the thank you message on her face.

They were soon in the back of a cab heading to Baker Street. Sherlock was quiet, he was looking outside the window, seeming upset. But in reality he didn't know what to say.

This wasn't his area of expertise, he wasn't good at comforting people. In any other situation he wouldn't even care, but in (Y/n)'s case he wished to know what to say. He wished to be able to make her feel better, to make the pain in her eyes go away, and the usual brightness that was there to take back it's place. It was paining him to see her so broken, especially that in the year he has known her she was always lively, she always made jokes and sarcastic comments, she always was able to laugh even in the most difficult situations.

She seemed a rock, not like him or his brother, because she cared and she showed that she cared, but in the way that nothing seemed to faze her, she seemed so powerful, so strong in the face of danger and adversity, she gave the impression that she was able to bounce back from anything life through at her. But know, in this moment, that (Y/n) seemed to have died. Sherlock glanced at her and he didn't see the strong and diligent woman that he knew, he saw a child, small and frail, scared and confused, even physically she looked smaller than usual. He's train of thoughts was broken by her sudden sobs, he tensed and cussed John for the hundredth time that day for not being there. John would have known what to do, he would have hugged her and hold her, he would have told her that everything will be ok. That's when it hit him. He could do the same, do what John would do. That should work.

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and moved closer to (Y/n) encompassing her in his arms, bringing her to his chest. (Y/n) went with the movement, she didn't put up a fight she grabbed his coat in her fists and leaned into him shaking even harder with every sob that escaped her lips.

"Why didn't he love me, Sherlock? Why did my own father let me believe he was dead for so many years? Why didn't he love me?" (Y/n) asked her words coming out in between sobs.

What on earth could he answer to this. He didn't know why her father faked his death fourteen years ago, why he all of the sudden decided to disappear. Yes, the man was an intelligence agent for MI6 and he's life wasn't one that lacked danger, but why he made the choice of leaving his fourteen year old daughter behind was a mistery. He couldn't find any valid answer, especially that he knew that (Y/n)'s father was keeping tabs on her which meant that he knew that his daughter started doing drugs after his 'death' and that she overdosed when she was sixteen; he knew that she was in a coma for months and that her mother left to make herself a new life far away from her comatose daughter. The man was a monster, that's why, but he couldn't tell her that.

"I don't know." He answered, rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head.

"I adored him. He was my hero and my model. Why did he even spend so much time teaching me everything he knew and training me if he was going to leave me behind? Why do people always leave? Why is everybody in my life so keen in leaving me without even an explanation? Why don't they have the guts to just tell me they're leaving? They just disappear, like they were never there. But they were, because there's always a hole left behind and I can't seem to be able to fill that hole. I'm so tired, I'm done with it. I'm done with life and all that's in it." A sense of finality reverberated from her words, stopping her sobs and the fall of her tears.

(Y/n) got up from Sherlock's arms and wiped away her face "I ruined your shirt. I'm sorry about that. I'll buy you another one, I promise!" she said seeing the smudges of make up that were all over his white shirt.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Sherlock answered, waving his hand as to wave the problem away.

"I'm buying you another one." (Y/n) insisted like that was the most important thing to do, like that action was her purpose in life.

"(Y/n) stop it with the shirt." He responded, not quite understanding her sudden obsession.

"Let me to buy you another bloody shirt!" she raised her voice, making the cabbie throw a glance in his rear view mirror at them.

"Fine! Calm down! There's no need to shout!"

"Where are we?" she changed the topic, not because she wanted to avoid a fight, but because she just realized that it wasn't the normal route to her house.

"Almost there."

"Almost there, where?"

"Baker Street."

"I don't leave there. I'm going home."

"I'm not leaving you by yourself in this state. You're coming to my flat. John will get back tomorrow and he'll be able to have a look at you." Sherlock reasoned.

"I'm not sick. I don't need a doctor. I'm fine!", but her voice gave her away, she didn't believe her own words and that carried through.

"Either way!" Sherlock stopped talking, (Y/n) wasn't paying attention anymore, it seemed that she didn't feel the need to fight him on the decision he made for her. It wasn't a good sign, she gave up and it made Sherlock to be twice more attentive to her, he would have to look over her the whole night, because it seemed that she already reached a resolution regarding her future and the signs all pointed towards self-destruction.

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
